


Don't Take That Sinner From Me.

by biblio_witch



Series: The Devil's Backbone (Bellarke) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblio_witch/pseuds/biblio_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy has been taken and Clarke will stomp into hell to drag him back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Take That Sinner From Me.

_Oh, Lord, oh Lord, What do I do,_

_I've fallen for someone who's nothing like you,_

_He's raised on the edge, of the Devil's Backbone_

_I just wanna take him home._

Sneaking out of the camp had been a blur, she only barely registered Raven patting her on the shoulder and murmuring a good luck, or the gun that Murphy had pressed into her palm, or the weight of the pack that Octavia had settled onto her shoulders.

She did remember the look of cold resentment Octavia had wore as Clarke had scrambled through the wire. But Clarke was certain she’d made the right decision in ordering her to stay behind. Octavia was being watched, as were Raven and Murphy. None of them had dared to involve Finn, so Clarke was venturing out alone.

The forest was a blur too, and she moved too quickly, unable to keep the panic roaring up her throat, taking root in her lungs as she struggled to keep her head clear, to stop herself from sinking into absolute, blind panic. She had to get him back, had to make sure he wasn’t… but no, he couldn’t be. He was strong, the strongest of them all. He would be fine until she got there.

Octavia had given strict instructions on how to get there. Three miles north of the old dropship there would be a river, follow that to the east, and their camp would be found soon after Clarke had passed the mounds of rubble and broken stones.

She didn’t feel the miles slipping away behind her, didn’t realise until she stopped that she was breathing hard and aching all over. But there it was, the camp, a few ramshackle buildings with smoke curling up from the center of it. She ducked back behind a tree, took a long drink of water, hefted the gun, and then snuck forward. She ducked behind one of the wooden huts, thanking the darkness for hiding her as she paused to catch her breath and wipe the sweat out of her eyes.

Clarke had just straightened out of her crouch, willing to search every single hut regardless of the grounders within, when she heard the yell.

It was a strangled, pained sound, and came from the wooden structure she was pressed against. She spun, trying to peer through the slight gaps between each of the wooden slats. There was a thud and a grunt, and Clarke felt fury bubble up in her chest.

"The dark haired boy, is he inside your camp?" came a deep, male voice. Clarke froze, another heavy thud, and a choked cough in reply "He killed our people, we only want him. Tell us where he is, and how to get him, and we’ll let you go."

There was no reply, and then he cried out, a real sound of agony, and Clarke was moving before she realised what she was actually doing, her footfalls silent and her hands shaking with hatred and rage as she moved around the side of the hut and paused just outside the door. There were no more sounds, and she had no idea how many was in there, but as soon as the next gasp of pain slithered through the door, she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t gather the dregs of reason she was usually so good at hoarding.

All intelligence left her, replaced with a blinding, choking sense of panic as she heard that one pained sound. Her shoulder was already shoving through the door, the gun in her hands up to eye level and she was impressed with how utterly calm her hold on it was.

Three people occupied the hut, two turned in surprise, but she was already on them, kicking one in the stomach and whacking the other sharply over the head with the butt of the gun. He hit the floor, and the woman was wheezing, bending over her stomach. Clarke grabbed her by the hair, shoved her head down and brought her knee up, and they were both on the floor, both out cold. Briefly, Clarke was surprised at her own capability to carry out violence, but when she turned and caught sight of the third occupant of the hut, all thought left her.

The noise that left her was something between a growl and a sob, and she stumbled towards him, hands reaching, but there was no where she could touch that wasn’t covered in blood. She didn’t want to hurt him more.

Her hands went to his face, cupping his cheeks as gently as she could to lift his head. His hands were tied above him, torso bare, skin covered in sweat and blood.

"What have they done to you?" she whispered, and could hear the wobble in her own voice. There were cuts on his face, one on his cheek, the other slicing down his lips, another on his forehead. His nose was bleeding too. "Bellamy?" she murmured, tapping his uninjured cheek lightly. "Bellamy? Wake up, please wake up."

He didn’t react. She checked for a pulse, and felt a weight lift from her chest when she felt the steady thrumming of his strong heartbeat. In another moment she was cutting the rope binding his wrists and catching him as he flopped straight downwards. She grunted under his weight but managed to lower him to the ground without much jostling. She settled his torso on her knees and cradled his head in her arm, smoothing back his thick, blood-caked hair.

"Bellamy, come on, wake up." she shook him, as gently as she could, but she was becoming panicked again. The grounders were tough, and she wouldn’t have hit them hard enough to put them down for long. With guilt wracking her frame, she fished her water bottle out of her pack and splashed it over his face. It had the effect she was hoping for; the coolness of it shocked his eyes open, and he was struggling against her hold, eyes wild and frightened, mouth open to shout.

Clarke clamped her hand down over his jaw and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pin him.

"It’s me, Bellamy, it’s Clarke." she chanted into his ear, and after the third time she’d muttered it he stilled and blinked up at her with a mixture of confusion, shock and wonder.

"You… you came for me." he whispered hoarsely.

"Of course I did," she smiled, "I always would." he blinked again, even more confused. But they had no more time. "We have to go, quickly."

He could barely stand, which was going to be a real big problem. He was huge compared to Clarke, and while all the physical activity had made Clarke’s frame thicker with muscle, and her arms and legs stronger, she had nothing on Bellamy’s bulk. She managed to heave him to his feet and leaned him precariously against the wall while she fished around for something to cover him with. Luckily, she found his shirt balled up in a corner of the room, even though it was bloody and ripped, it would do until they got back to camp. She helped him pull it on, wincing every time he hissed and grimaced with pain. They’d sliced him up with a knife, cutting deep slashes into his chest and stomach. There were burns on his back too, and when Clarke saw them, she could not help the tears that welled up and splashed down her cheeks.

She tried to hide her tears from him as she pulled his thick arm over her shoulders and started to shuffle the both of them towards the door.

"You did that?" he nodded groggily towards the grounder pair.

"Yeah," Clarke replied, trying to cough away the thickness in her voice.

"Huh," he cut her a smirk and squeezed her shoulders "Brave princess."

"Yeah well," she sniffed "They were in my way." he laughed quietly as they paused by the door. Clarke glanced out, thankful that she’d done this in the middle of the night. No one was about, and she would love to do this without having to kill anyone. She grabbed Bellamy again and heaved him out of the door, back around the hut and into the trees again.

She was panting after just a few minutes. Bellamy really was trying to help, leaning on her as little as possible, grabbing hold of every passing branch or tree to use as a handhold, but there was nothing he could do about the space between trees, where he could not hold himself upright, and relied on Clarke to keep him on his feet.

It had taken her about two hours to get to the camp, an hour of them walking had passed, and Bellamy was getting weaker, and Clarke becoming more and more weary, her bones turning to to water inside her.

"Maybe… we should… stop." Bellamy gasped out, chest heaving. Clarke nodded, stopped to lower him down against a tree, she only lasted about three seconds on her feet before she collapsed down next to him, swiping sweat from her forehead and out of her eyes.

"I should have brought Finn," Clarke sighed, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

"Those grounders… would have been shot, rather than… knocked out." Bellamy muttered, eyes closed as he leaned back against the bark "You did good."

"It’ll mean nothing if I can’t get you safely back to camp," Clarke huffed, pulling out her water bottle and taking long drags from it "It’ll all be for nothing."

"Not to me," Bellamy murmured "This isn’t nothing to me, princess. You saved me."

"Saved you from the grounders just to die in the woods, because I’m too weak to carry you."

Bellamy’s hand was suddenly on her chin, pulling her face around to stare into her eyes “Rather die free and with you than tied up with the grounders.”

She stared at him, thoroughly shocked by the emotion in his voice and in his eyes, and just as she was opening her mouth to stutter out a reply around her embarrassment, she heard the distinct sound of shouts in the distance. Not just shouts but… the yapping of dogs.

"Up, get up!" she gasped, heaving Bellamy back to his feet. He groaned but complied, willingly wrapping his arm back around her shoulders as she reached for his waist, half dragging and half yanking, unable to be gentle with him now as Clarke glanced back and saw the bobbing points of light in the distance, telling her that the grounders were following… with fire and dogs. They weren’t going to make it, Clarke had killed them both, and all because she’d been too proud to attempt this alone.

"The dogs," she shook her head, their own doom clenching her heart in an ironclad fist "The dogs will find us before we make it back."

"Water." Bellamy muttered, his head drooping.

"I know, but I can’t stop to give you any. I’m sorry," she told him, trying her hardest to move as fast as she could, but with her burden it wasn’t very fast at all.

"No, I mean… Get to-… water. A stream. A river. The scent… They’re following our… Scent."

"Of course," gasped Clarke, "Of course! Bellamy, you’re a genius!" before she could stop herself she had planted a big, clumsy kiss on his mouth, so overjoyed was she at this new found piece of hope. Bellamy glanced sideways, grinning even through his pain and exhaustion.

"If you’re gonna be this nice to me, I’m going to get kidnapped more often."

"You ever worry me like this again, I’ll kill you myself." Clarke cut back at him, he chuckled but quickly choked down the noise with a groan of pain.

"The river is this way," Clarke said, finding that Bellamy seemed a lot more lighter now that she knew they had a chance, even a tiny one, at getting home alive. "It’s not far, alright? I promise, just a few more minutes, and I can carry you through the water."

The shouts and barks were getting a lot louder, and Clarke knew it would not take the grounders long to find them. The dogs were following their scent, it wasn’t a matter of if they would be found, but when.

Just as Clarke was starting to worry she was leading them in the wrong direction, they pushed past a line of hedges and splashed headlong into the river, which was waist deep and freezing cold. The temperature seemed to shock Bellamy into awareness, if anything, and considering the river was flowing the way they were supposed to be heading, Clarke found it easier carrying Bellamy, letting the current half carry him too. In parts the river came up to their chest, which had them both shaking, but at least Clarke barely had to carry him.

When she saw the ruins of the dropship through the trees, she heaved them both out of the river and back onto dry land.

"Looking good, Clarke." Bellamy was grinning, but his eyes were glassy and his expression dazed. His wounds were still bleeding, turning his shirt black rather than the light green it had been. Clarke looked down to find the water sticking her shirt to her chest and stomach, then aimed a punch at his shoulder.

"Here I was thinking that a near-death experience had turned you into a decent human being." she gathered him from the tree he was leaning sloppily against and started moving again, her limbs felt like lead, and her teeth were chattering loudly. The river had not been a good idea. Bellamy felt like ice next to her, and that would only make his injuries worse. What if he went into shock? What if she went into shock? Bellamy would not be able to get her home.

"I think you’re overestimating my character," he laughed, then coughed, and Clarke was stricken to see him spit blood on the floor.

She started moving quicker, grabbing at low hanging branches with her free hands so that she could pull herself along too. “Depends which Bellamy Blake we’re talking about, if I’m honest.”

"What’s that supposed to mean?" was his voice fading? Oh no. No no no.

"Well, there’s Big Brother Bellamy Blake," Clarke was panting, talking to try to keep him awake, and to keep herself from feeling the pain of this current situation "There’s Leader Bellamy Blake, there’s Self-Loathing Bellamy Blake. I think there are a few more, but you’ll have to ask other people for those, I forget them all."

"Huh," he was definitely fading "Well, which is your favourite?"

"I don’t even like you, why would I have a favourite?"

"Liar," he laughed, then winced "You adore me."

"Keep dreaming, Blake."

"I will princess… Don’t-… you worry about that."

"Please don’t flirt with me, I’m trying to concentrate here."

"Am I distracting you with my… Daring good looks… And charming… Attitude?"

"Charming? Next joke."

"I feel like your bedside manner… needs a little… work."

"What?"

"You know, doctor’s… are supposed to have-" he was panting, forcing the words between clenched teeth "Gentle voices and… kind eyes. When people are sick. They call it- a bedside… Manner. Yours sucks."

"Good thing I’m not a doctor then, isn’t it?"

It was then that he collapsed. Clarke cried out as she felt him fall, trying to catch him but only managing to cushion his fall just slightly. He landed in a heap in the dirt, shaking and shivering and panting. His eyes were rolling back in his head, his face white as a sheet, throwing the brown freckles into sharp focus, even in the dark.

"Bellamy, Bellamy you have to get up. I can’t carry you, Bellamy please." Clarke sobbed, begging him to stand, throwing glances behind them, where the sound of shouts and dogs had not entirely died away. They were going to die, she was going to die, she was going to die and all because of smartass, ridiculous, brilliant Bellamy Blake.

"Too… Tired." he whispered.

"I know," she gasped, hands on his cheeks, trying to shake him awake "I know, but there’s a bed waiting for you back home, and moonshine, and a fire, and Octavia is there. She’s waiting for you, you gonna leave her with no one?"

"She’ll have you."

"It’s not the same, you know it isn’t. Bellamy, get up." she grabbed his shoulders and shook him as hard as she could, but she only managed to make his head roll lazily on his shoulders.

Perhaps she should leave him, hide him under a pile of leaves and run as quickly as she could back to camp, get guards and people big enough to carry him, and then she could return. But she knew that Abby would not let her come back, not in the state she was in, and not knowing that grounders were near. No, either she was returning with Bellamy, or she wasn’t returning at all.

"Leave me," he muttered, "Leave me here, Clarke."

"That’s it," she growled, and grabbed his shoulders "On your feet, Blake. Move it!" she heaved him up, managed to get his feet under him, and leaned him against a thick tree, she slapped him, hard, around the cheek "I am not dying muddy, cold and wet, you got that? You are not dying, not after all the work I put into saving you. Now you’re going to stay awake, or I’m gonna kill you myself, you got that Blake?"

"Yes ma’am." he whispered, and gave her a clumsily, mocking salute, barely able to smile.

Clarke took a deep breath, discarding her pack and jacket, then she bent at the waist and pulled Bellamy’s hips over her shoulder. She stood, her spine creaking, as she took his entire weight onto her back. His torso hung down over her shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around his legs, and then she started walking.

****

The sun was coming up and Raven was still sat in the makeshift eating area, a cup of moonshine clenched in one hand, where it had been sat all night. Murphy was slumped on the table, cheek on his arm and mouth hanging open, snoring loudly. Octavia was carving a path up and down next to the table, chewing on her nails, eyes darting from the floor to the gate every few moments.

"Something’s gone wrong."

"Maybe," Raven nodded "But it’s likely that Bellamy was just in bad shape, Clarke might have had to haul up somewhere to treat him before they could move again."

"Grounders track with dogs," Octavia snapped back "They wouldn’t have had a chance to haul up somewhere."

Raven fell quiet, knowing Octavia would argue viciously for as long as she were able. She opened her mouth anyway, just to tell her how tough the two of them were. Bellamy and Clarke would outlive them all, especially if they were together. They were a good team, and would no doubt be using that to stay safely out of the grounders reach. Just as she went to tell Octavia that she was being stupid, there came a shout from the gate.

Octavia spun round just as Raven reached out to smack Murphy awake. She stood, mouthing hanging open in shock, as she watched a strange, misshapen shape stumble past the line of trees. Guards were shouting to it, this new monster, but then Octavia was shouting, leaping forward, screaming her brother’s name.

Raven couldn’t see how it could be Bellamy, unless he’d shrunk several inches and had grown some kind of growth out of the side of his body.

But wait… she moved forward as fast as she could, but only managed to get to the gate as the strange creature lurched threw it, and she realised that it was Bellamy and… Clarke? But no, Clarke was carrying Bellamy.

Holy shit.

Guards pulled Bellamy from Clarke’s shoulder, though it took some gentle coaxing from Octavia to persuade the blonde to unclench her fingers from his clothes. As soon as Bellamy was carried away, Clarke’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fell, completely limp, to the floor.

****

He’d been sat beside her bed for about an hour, wincing every time he shifted. Clarke was in her tent again, considering Abby had said there wasn’t even really anything wrong with her, except a few scrapes and pulled muscles. She would be fine, the doctor had said, nothing but exhaustion.

He was the one supposed to be confined to bed, but he’d been restless ever since he’d come round to see Abby staring down at him. He’d lost a lot of blood, had a few broken bones, and the burns on his back would take weeks to heal, let alone the scars…

Not that he cared about that, he couldn’t even see his back, why would he be bothered? No, the thing that had unsettled him the most was the memory of Clarke’s face swimming in front of him, her cheeks flushed and eyes wild and mouth open in fright. They were dead, he had been sure. He’d heard the grounders in the distance, and he had known that he couldn’t go any further.

So why was his next memory of blinking up at Abby? Of Abby telling him he was safe, home, that Clarke was okay and so was he? That’s when Abby told him Clarke had carried him back, and that’s what was making Bellamy so restless.

She’d carried him back? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. She was so little, and he was massive compared to her. It was like a mouse trying to carry an elephant. Well… maybe not that dramatic, a deer carrying a lion, then. It should have been impossible, should have been absolutely pointless, but she’d managed it. Of course she had, she was too stubborn to fail.

Clarke shifted under her cover, then blinked up at her ceiling. She frowned, and Bellamy smiled at the confused pucker of her lips and startled angle of her eyebrows.

"Welcome back, princess."

She gave a gasp and sat bolt upright in bed, eyes popping wide at the sight of him, which was pretty pathetic right now.

"Bellamy?" she gasped, and stood up so quickly she got tangled in her blankets and stumbled. He reached out to catch her, seeing as he was sat right next to her bed. She laughed, embarrassed, and brushed his hands from where they’d settled on her hips. Her face was pink, and he couldn’t help smiling as she slumped back onto her bed.

"How’s it going?" he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Me?" she frowned "What about you? Weren’t you almost killed? It’s not supposed to be humanly possible for someone to look so smug after being tortured.”

"I’m not smug," he constructed a stern expression onto his face "It’s not supposed to be humanly possible for a little tiny girl to carry a full grown man, but you did it."

"I’m a woman," she scowled at him "And I’m hardly tiny." she rolled her crystal blue eyes "And what did you want me to do? Leave you there?"

"That’s exactly what I wanted you to do." he glared "You could have died."

"You could have too,"

"That doesn’t matter! You don’t put your life on the line for me, Clarke. Never, alright?"

"You’d have done it for me," there was no uncertainty of this in her eyes, and he was surprised and slightly flattered that she thought so highly of him.

"That’s different."

"Why? Because you’re a big strong man and I’m-"

"Because people care about you." he snapped "People depend on you. You’re worth more than I am, Clarke."

Clarke blinked, then her face flattened into anger. She grabbed his hands and held them between her own. The contrast was severe; her hands small and his large. Her skin pale and his tanned.

"Don’t you ever say that, Bellamy." she glared "People care about you, and people need you. I need you, alright? You think I would haul your fat ass two miles through the woods if I didn’t?"

"Fat?" he arched an eyebrow, scowling still.

"Yeah well, I wouldn’t feel so damn awful if you weren’t so monstrously big." she glared, as if his size was his fault. He rolled his eyes at her, then smiled. It felt lighter and came more easily than it had done in weeks. She’d done something amazing, and she’d done it all for him, not just for the greater good. She’d done it because she cared, and because she thought he was worth it.

He moved forward, lightning fast, and pressed a quick but firm kiss against her lips. When he pulled back she was blinking, cheeks pink. Bellamy grinned at her, smugness returning as she swallowed and sat up, flustered.

"Huh," she glanced at his mouth and back up to his eyes, and he chuckled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that if you’re gonna be this nice to me, I’ll rescue you more often."

**Author's Note:**

> If you like books and the 100 (and obviously you do, duh) you can find me on tumblr and instagram at bibliowitch for both of those sites, and you can come talk to me about books and the 100 and anything else tbh cuz I like talking, if you have requests for any more fics then you can ask me on tumblr too :)


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